


Healer's Gift

by PrettyArbitrary



Category: Sherlock (TV), Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, High Fantasy, M/M, Talking Animals, Valdemar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock lifts a cocky, ascerbic eyebrow.  "Do you have a prescription for an overabundance of intelligence, kestra’chern?  A rock to the head, perhaps?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healer's Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persian Slipper (Luthe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthe/gifts).



> Written for a Tumblr prompt from persian-slipper, who asked for 'John/Sherlock. Valdemar.'
> 
> Full disclosure: it’s been a reaaaaally long time since I read any of the Valdemar books. I’m making up anything I don’t remember, and if I do think I remember it, I might be making it up anyway.

John feels with his healer’s gift along Sherlock’s body, sinking his awareness into the tissues to find them abused, battered, swollen. "This isn’t new damage," John tells him almost accusingly. This is old, unrepaired, _neglected_ by a man who doesn’t eat or sleep enough. No wonder the K’Vala scout leader sent Sherlock to him.

Sherlock simply huffs, lip twisting into a contemptuous curl that should not be as appealing as it is. John closes his eyes as the disdain washes through him, hot and oddly elegant. 

:He doesn’t take care of himself,: Sherlock’s owl grumps. :It’s _boring_ , he says. Says his mind gets too busy if he lets himself get _distracted_.: John can feel her piled-up irritation, her prickly sarcasm directed at Sherlock like a barb, shiny and well-worn, and a mimic-perfect mirror image of what’s rolling off Sherlock where he sits.

"My mind needs to stay busy," Sherlock says, as if even bothering to speak is a mighty concession. "Yours may plod; mine races. It needs problems that will occupy it, not…" He flaps a graceful, sharp hand. " _Trivialities._ "

Good lord. Mages. John scratches the poor despairing owl behind her head, and then turns back to Sherlock. "Trivialities, eh?"

Sherlock lifts a cocky, ascerbic eyebrow. "Do you have a prescription for an overabundance of intelligence, kestra’chern? A rock to the head, perhaps?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." John grins wickedly and slides in to straddle Sherlock’s lap, tugging the collar of his robe open. "I have just the thing to occupy that overactive mind."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Never Again Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/935825) by [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/pseuds/nautilicious)




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